for blue skies
by folie a plusieurs
Summary: the best love stories are the ones that end in tragedy – emma/leo. trigger warning for heavy mentions of eating disorders.
1. prologue

prologue  
><em>it's been a long year<em>

* * *

><p>Emma Chota is six years old the very first time she compares her body to another girl's. They are in line outside of the cafeteria, ready to ample down the ramp back to their class rooms where they'll count to one hundred and finger paint skyscrapers until 3pm. She can't remember the conversation now, only the barest mention of a girl being a size 6 xs in clothing. She was a 7.<p>

Emma did not want to be a 7.

Her fingers grasped the hem of her shirt. She frowned.

There is nothing, absolutely nothing, in this world like hating yourself. Like feeling like you are not enough and too much at the same exact time. Her fingertips found the skin of her slightly prodding belly that evening before her nightly bath. She stared at herself in the mirror for a long time.

It was the first, but not the last time she'd be disappointed with what she saw in her reflection.

This did not wane. As she grew older, it only grew stronger. She became more aware of herself, of her body. _Too much, too much, too much; _why was she so much? Her fingers grasped her hips, nails dug into skin, clothes scattered over the floor. She was thirteen the first time she cried in a pile of clothing that only made her feel ugly, that only made her feel _fat. _

Later, her therapist would tell her not to use that word.

Later, she would have a therapist.

Later, she would think constantly about food. About calories: 100 calories for this; 90 for that; 230 for this; how many is that all together? How many does your body burn again? How long will she have to run later to burn this off? How hungry she is. How much she wants to eat.

How much she doesn't.

There is an internal battle every second of every day.

Sometimes she stops, realizes that there are people out there who can't tell you how many calories are in a salad with cheese, turkey, and tomatoes (230). Who don't look at the calories on cereal boxes, on milk cartons, on every coffee. Bananas have 120 calories. It's not a lot based on a 1000 calorie diet, but it feels like too much.

It's too much.

Here is the thing about mental illness: there is no medicine to cure it. No surgery to remove it. You can't take a shot of morphine to stop it. So many people say "you are not your mental illness" but, aren't you? It is you. It is that part of your brain, whispering to you. Telling you, "you are not enough. You are too much." When you have a disorder of any kind, you are that person for the rest of your life. Once an alcoholic, you are always an alcoholic. The first time you bring a blade to your skin, you are labeling yourself: Cutter. The first time your finger finds the back of your throat: Bulimic.

Because it is more than illness, it is addiction. This becomes first instinct. Long after you've put the bottle down, long after you've buried the blade, long after you can look at yourself naked in the mirror.

Long after you've learned to be okay, you were first not okay.

Your brain never forgets that, your shaking palms will never forget that.

Emma is not okay.

How could she ever learn to forget that?


	2. one

chapter one  
><em>just between you and i<em>

* * *

><p>Emma sighed; closing her book and turning around in her computer chair at the exact moment Kara Sounders found her way into her room and plucked a sandwich from the tray near Emma's bed. Emma had made sure to stay at her desk. Don't look at it, don't acknowledge it, she'd told herself. Maybe if she ignored it long enough it would disappear. Glancing over at Kara, who'd finished off more than half of it already, she had to find the irony in the situation. It was indeed disappearing. Just not the way she had imagined.<p>

Emma had known this girl a week and already Kara had eaten six halves of her sandwiches. She wouldn't complain, she decided. At least the sandwich was mostly gone. As Kara moved onto the fruit cup, she grumbled about lack of "decent food" on her floor.

"So unfair. The people who actually _want _to eat are fed shit. Meanwhile the kids that get the good stuff hide it underneath their beds or flush it or whatever." Kara paused, narrowing her eyes in suspicion at Emma, spoon hovering inches from her cherry lips. "Have you ever flushed your food?"

Emma blinked, but did not deny it. It may have happened, once or twice. Who said Kara needed to know that, though? Deciding she was over discussing her _Anorexia Nervosa, _as the doctors liked to call it, she deflected.

"Have you sorted things out with your mom's yet?"

Emma did not like Kara, not in the least. She was bratty, self-involved, and _pretty. _Something she'd noticed Leo noticing. Just the thought made her stomach twist uncomfortably. However, everyone deserved to have a support system that listened and cared. She may have felt suffocated by her own parents who obsessed over her disorder, writing emails and calling every single night to check up on her, but she had to admit she had no idea what it felt like to not have that; to have a mother who talked and talked and never listened.

Kara at least deserved to be heard.

Everyone did, this was something Emma recently decided she'd believed in firmly.

Kara made a face at Emma. "Mind your own business." There was a pause. Emma held her breath, waiting for the stomping of feet, the high pitched insults, the anger and the exit. It never came. "Sometimes, I feel like I'm more like a Barbie for her to play with and control only when it suits her." Kara placed the sandwich back on the tray and stood, and with her went her walls. Whatever else she wanted to say Emma would never know, Kara bit her tongue to stop herself from talking.

What was it like? To feel like there was no one who cared about how you felt. People had always cared for Emma; her mother, father, doctors, therapist. She realized with a start there had never been a person in her life that was unwilling to hear her perspective. Emotions were hard and distressing and especially painful. Throw a faulty heart into that and it just couldn't be good.

Emma reached out and grasped Kara's hand.

"She loves you," Emma promised. This was something Emma believed. Though her methods were insubstantial, there was no doubt. Who would create a hashtag for their daughter (#HeartAndSoul); Emma had to admit it was at least creative) if they _didn't _love their daughter. There were just a lot of issues there that needed to be discussed. Her mother needed to learn how to listen; it didn't mean Kara wasn't loved. Emma supposed it just meant that at the end of the day, even parents are only human.

Kara rolled her eyes and tugged her hand away, ruining any potentially deep and profound moment they could have had. "Well, duh. Who doesn't? Ugh. I'm out. You're clearly getting too attached." As promised, she flounced away.

Emma fell back against her chair, breathing out heavily. "Finally," she muttered, as a nurse walked in. The lady with a bright pink smile and artificially flushed cheeks gave her a large grin and raved over how much Emma had eaten today.

"Amazing job, Emma. I'm very proud of you."

Even though Emma knew this was simply positive reinforcement in an attempt to get to her to create a more healthy mindset about eating (i.e. instead of feeling guilty and like she's done wrong when she eats, she should instead feel proud and like she'd achieved something) and probably not sincere in the least, she felt guilty.

Great, she felt guilty for eating and she felt guilty for not eating.

You can't win for losing.

* * *

><p>That night, she ended up in Jordi's room. He wasn't yet back with Leo, something she found herself both relieved and disappointed over, instead he was hooked up to machines and heart monitors that hummed quietly as she peeked her head in the door. It was the first time she'd seen him since before and maybe she was a little nervous.<p>

Jordi was asleep, snoring softly, eyes closed, dainty lashes dusting against his cheeks. She settled into an armchair near his bed and quietly watched him. His chest rose and fell and she counted his breathes. She got to thirteen before her eyes found his legs: Plural.

It was supposed to be singular.

He didn't lose his leg.

She thought back on Kara's earlier comment about Leo feeling like crap and a piece of her chest ached. It was something they'd discussed in depth when they were together. Something they never talked about, something they both would have rather hidden underneath baggy sweaters and blankets: Themselves. Their illnesses; the before, the after.

Jordi's before and after looked frighteningly similar.

She smiled down at him, fingers grasping his palm and squeezing gently before standing and exiting the room. She was jealous, but only a little. She was happy, though, for him. He would be okay. He would run and live and breathe heavily. His two feet would touch the floor every single morning. If only it was so easy for the rest of them. If only they could have a surgery, remove the faulty parts of them without compromising who they were. If only they could get rid of the cancer without having to sacrifice the leg; without losing the ability to run.

Emma was glad Jordi didn't have to sacrifice.

"I'll visit again when you're awake," she murmured, standing and making her way out of the room. Her plan was to go back to her room, but she knew if she did that she would end up in front of a mirror, shirt pushed up her stomach, palms flat on her stomach as she studied her body from every angle. As she fought the urge to smash her mirror, as she fought the urge to cry.

Instead, she was frightened to find herself standing in front of Leo's room.

Admittedly, this had been something that had become habit back _before. _Whenever it got bad, whenever she felt triggered, this was where she went. No one could bring her back except Leo. He understood, in the weirdest way, what it was like to hate the body you were stuck inside of. His was cancerous, hers wasn't good enough. They were two different people, with two different diagnosis', but they could relate. They understood.

The ache she'd felt before in Jordi's hospital room only intensified as she remembered how his mouth felt, pressed against hers. How his words felt against her skin, sweet and warm and honey when he'd told her he loved her; sharp, stinging, burning, pain when he'd ended things.

Before and after.

"Emma?"

It took his voice for her to realize he was there, had been there the entire time, sitting in his bed, body sideways, fingers grasping at one crutch like he was prepared to get out of it and come to her. Leo couldn't read her mind but she felt suddenly very vulnerable and afraid anyway for even thinking those things in his presence.

"I'm sorry."

Leo raised an eyebrow. "For showing up unannounced and acting really weird?" he attempted to quip, but she ignored it.

"That you didn't get to keep your leg."

Leo stood, hobbled over to her. He stood three feet from her and she felt dizzy. Why was he so close? Why wasn't he closer? "Emma…"

"Do you ever think… what if? What if we weren't these people, what if we were just… normal? No amputations or weigh-ins or cancer or eating disorders. No struggle. What if things just… were?" It was rare for Emma to break down like this. It wasn't even a break down, really. She wasn't crying. She wasn't breathing heavily. She was speaking as if the things she were saying were based upon logic and fact, as if they were charged with emotions. Her words didn't come from her brain, though, they came from her heart and she stared up at Leo with big eyes.

She never wanted to be this girl. The girl who can't finish a meal, who can't list the amount of calories in nearly every food in America, the girl who's tried all of the diets and then when they didn't work, the girl who stopped eating.

Emma didn't want to be the girl who stopped eating.

She blinked at about the same time Leo's crutches hit the ground and he stumbled forward into her. His body was heavy and his arms crushing when they wrapped themselves around her. He was everywhere and she missed this, she missed them.

"Why did you push me away?"

But things were different now, weren't they? There was Jordi and Kara and… his palm found her neck. She blinked, pulling herself gently back, helping him to lean against a wall so he wouldn't collapse when she collected his crutch. "I should go."

Leo didn't argue. Leo said nothing, only stared at her in silence with those eyes.

Once, she would have been able to tell you what he was thinking. That was before distance, before fear. Before he realized he was going to die one day, perhaps sooner than he had always assumed. Everyone thinks they're going to make it to one hundred. We all wander through this world with the assumptions that we'll look into the mirror one day and see leathery skin and grey hair and age spots and ten grandkids.

No one ever stops and thinks that maybe that's not always the case.

Death has no age limit. Everyone dies, whether it be at two seconds, two minutes, two days, two years, or two decades. Life is something no one will ever get alive out of.

Not her, not him, not Charlie, or Jordi, or Kara.

Maybe all of this was in vain; the surgery, the removal of Leo's leg, the transplant list. It was all to postpone the inevitable. To buy more time.

To buy a life before a death.

When Emma looked at Leo, she was not sure whether she understood him more or less now.

Maybe a little bit of both.

"I'll see you, Leo."

She turned and she went back to her room.

Emma stood in her mirror and lifted her shirt and turned from side to side, studying her body. And then she allowed it to fall and turned her light off and climbed into her bed.

When she closed her eyes, she tried not to feel Leo's arms around her, tried not to remember his weight on her. The softness of his scalp as it brushed her cheek. Her fingertips on his hips. The first time they met. The first time they kissed. The memories are not a snowflake, but an avalanche.

The tears come, as they usually did.

Maybe this was her fault. Maybe if she was stronger things would have been different. Maybe they could have been brave. Maybe they could have been happy. If she was stronger, if she was thinner. If she wasn't so much, he wouldn't have left. That's why he left.

Maybe the worst part about that was, he didn't really leave at all. He was still there, still everywhere she went. Everything she saw. He gave them up, willingly. Every time they passed one another in the hallway, every time they spoke, every time he sat near her in class, he was giving her up all over again. Her fingers clutched at her blankets and she sniffled quietly into the fabric, coating herself and her covers in her tears and snot.

Emma closed her eyes and breathed deeply the way her therapist had told her to, trying to calm herself. She could feel a panic attack coming and knew she had to stop this before it got any worse. It was okay, she was fine. She didn't need Leo. She didn't need food. She was fine. She was okay.

Before she fell asleep she promised herself she would not eat tomorrow. She was strong. She was so much stronger than anyone realized.

Emma would prove it.


	3. two

**note 1: **thank you so much for the kind reviews, and the favorites and alerts as well. I'm really glad there are people enjoying this fic.

**note 2: **this is being written from mobile so i apologize in advance for any and all mistakes

* * *

><p><span>chapter two<span>

_you and me and the satellites_

* * *

><p>When Emma opens her eyes the next morning, the sun shines through her window and a nurse is hovering over her bed. She blinks.<p>

"Hello, Emma! Good morning!" Brittany chirps, sounding very much like the humming birds outside of her window. Emma can appreciate the beauty of happiness, but not before ten am. She glances at the digital clock on her bedside table. The bold red letters read 8:29. A groan escapes her lips.

Still, she manages to only half-grunt a "good morning, Brittany," in return. What does she want? Are they doing a surprise weigh in? Maybe she knows about the last one. About the water and the coins. Guilt floods her senses.

"I brought your breakfast..." She trails off and Emma has to note that her voice changes. She almost sounds hesitant. Afraid, even. Like the mention of food will break Emma.

Emma swallows thickly. Last night she had sworn to herself she wouldn't eat today. It wasn't even a matter of self control, she decided as she eyed Brittany who was standing there, watching Emma. She wouldn't stay until the tray was empty, would she? Emma wasn't sure either of them had that kind of time to waste. She'd always been good at maintaining self control. Even when she was young, she never allowed herself more than three sweets a week. Back then it was simply because they were bad for your health and teeth.

And now.

Emma stares at the tray with unfocused eyes, racking her brain. Blinking, she smiles up at Brittany. "Looks amazing," she announces and grabs the tray, 'digging in.'

She stuffs some of the pancake into her mouth, only slightly hesitant. And then she chews. She chews and chews and the urge to spit it all out is overwhelming, but she resists. Brittany will leave soon, before she has to swallow, and then she'll spit it out. Brittany can't stay in here forever. She watches her pretend to reread her chart. Her eyes stay on Emma the entire time however. Emma stuffs more food into her mouth. Some of it accidentally gets swallowed and she wants to cry.

It doesn't count, she tells herself. It was barely any. Probably not more than fifty calories. The thought of it being in her body is enough to make her gag slightly on the food in her mouth.

Brittany finally offers her a smile. "I'll leave you alone to finish. I'm proud of you."

Emma smiles, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk preparing for winter. The only difference is chipmunks don't feel disgusting for hoarding food in their mouths the way Emma feels when she makes her way into the bathroom attached to her room and spits it all out into the toilet. She returns to her room and collects the plate. She scrapes a believable amount off into the toilet. Standing there, she watches it just float.

It looks almost like throw up, except it's only been chewed. Not swallowed or digested. Emma bites her lip. There is a part of her that regrets this already. That sighs heavily and insists she just eat. It's just food, that part tells her. It's not that big of a deal. Except, for Emma, it is. Food is a vital life source, but for her it has become the enemy. It keeps you alive but she doesn't want it. She can live without it, she tells herself. This is not logical and she knows.

She flushes the toilet. It doesn't matter. All that matters is her body. How awful is it, to be stuck in skin you would like to set fire to.

She wants to watch her body burn.

* * *

><p>After her morning therapy, classes, and then lunch — Kara doesn't eat with her so her breakfast routine is repeated; chew, chew, spit, flush — Emma ends up outside. The air is a bit chilly, so she wraps her cardigan tightly around her thin body and pulls her knitted cap down farther over her face. The sun shines brightly despite the nippiness. It's nice out here. Relaxing. The perfect place to read a thick novel and sip on a warm latte.<p>

Emma thinks about the amount of fat in those lattes however and the image shatters. Never mind. She'd prefer a water. Foods with no calories are her best friend. Water is her best friend. If she could, she would live off water alone and be completely fine. She doesn't need pancakes or a latte or that dumb ham sandwich the nurse brought her for lunch. All she needs is some crisp h2o.

Her fingers knit themselves together and she sighs. Why is she even here? She wants to go home. She wants things to be the way they were. They'll never be the way they were. Her parents will never look at her the same. She is a china doll, 'fragile' may as well be stamped in red letters across her forehead.

Someone interrupts her thought process by dropping down on the seat beside her. They say nothing, so Emma assumes it's a stranger. She's surprised to see Jordi.

His eyes look tired, there are bags underneath them and they water, but Emma says nothing to him about that. Instead, she's just happy to see him. "Hi," she says almost shyly.

"Hey," he murmurs in the same tone.

"You kept your leg."

"The cancer spread."

They speak at the same time and are left staring at each other, almost breathless. His words leave a hole in her chest. She knows what this means. She's spent enough time in this hospital, she's seen enough rooms being cleaned. Some people come for a day, some a year. Some people leave, they recover, go home. And some don't.

Her arms wrap around his neck and she pulls him to her, hugging him with all the strength she's got. It isn't much. It's enough though. He hugs her back.

"I don't want to die, Emma." His admission surprises her. Of course maybe it's obvious, he came across the border for this. He offered up his leg as a sacrifice. It wasn't enough. Emma wonders what that's like, to offer up a part of you to save an even bigger part of you. To be willing to cut a limb off to save yourself, to be at peace with it, only to find out it's not enough. Only to find out it's too late.

She can't tell Jordi he won't die. She wants to but it's a lie. Everyone dies. She wants to tell him he'll live until he's ninety, until he's old and grey. She doesn't know this. For all she knows he'll survive cancer only to die in a bank robbery. The idea is morbid and depressing. She holds him tighter.

"I don't want you to die either."

He pulls away and smiles at her. "I won't be able to freeze that leg now, huh?"

"You still technically can." She grins.

Jordi barks in laughter. "Touché, Emma. Touché."

* * *

><p>An hour before dinner and Emma is hiding in a broom closet. Sitting beside a mop that looks like it's never seen water in it's existence and a bucket that's layered with years of grime, she holds Henry IV in her lap. As hard as she tries, she can't focus on the words. This closet, it's familiar. She looks around several times but her brain can't register.<p>

Then the door swings open, florescent light brightening the small space. Shelves stretch out on one side with various products and a boy leaning on crutches arches his eyebrow at her at the same time she remembers.

Their first kiss.

Their second kiss.

Their last kiss.

Emotions well up in her throat and she feels dizzy but this could also be from the lack of food in her system. Taking a few calming breaths, she folds her book shut, careful to take extra time with it. It's almost as if she's avoiding him. She's not.

Really.

Emma thinks of the last time they spoke, and when she glances at him she can tell he's thinking about it too. Neither of them bring it up. They know better. There is no reason to discuss it. It's funny. This is their entire relationship summed up; when something happens don't discuss it. Avoid it. Pretend it never happened.

She's still pretending they never happened. Only, it's much harder than she'd like it to be. Whether Emma wants to admit it or not, Leo is special.

He always will be.

Leo stands in the doorway for a moment, seemingly contemplating. And then he wobbles forward and uses one of his crutches to push the door shut. They're swallowed in darkness and Emma is swallowed in the memory of his kiss.

He sits down beside her. "Emma?"

"Yes, Leo?"

"I hate Henry IV."

Despite herself, Emma laughs. Her stomach aches and her eyes hurt and her brain is a minefield, and yet here she is. A genuine smile spread across her lips.

Her fingers reach out on their own accord and wrap into his. Emma's heart stutters in her chest when she realizes and she goes to pull away, to apologize to him. They are not together anymore. They haven't been for a long time.

Leo broke up with her. Leo didn't want her. The self destructive thoughts come and her desire to eat is at an all time low. His hand tightens around hers.

Emma doesn't suddenly feel like she can eat a feast. She doesn't suddenly love her body, herself. When people desire a lover that doubles as a savior, often times what they really need is simply someone to grasp their hand tightly and not let go.

The thoughts are still there, still a swarm behind her eyes and wrapping around her stomach. They don't choke her lungs though. She doesn't feel afraid of them.

Maybe people just need to be reassured that they're not alone. Mental illness can play tricks on your mind. It alters your view on the world. It makes you paranoid, it makes you obsessive, it makes you afraid. It isolates and makes you feel alone, like no one understands. Emma thinks that's one of the hardest parts about it, aside from the addiction. It's knowing logically you're not alone, that people care, that people are there.

The need for reassurance.

The only reassurance Emma needs is Leo's cold palm pressed against hers, long fingers between her own. She leans her head against his shoulder.

"Leo?"

"Hm?"

"I'm glad I met you."

Despite the circumstances, despite the location, her disorder, his cancer. She feels selfish for that part of her that is happy he got cancer. That they met. She is selfish. Leo will never play soccer the way he used to, if at all.

But maybe even if he hadn't gotten cancer, maybe if she hadn't developed anorexia. Maybe.

"Me too, Em."

When she glances up at him his eyes are clouded and she has to bite her lip. He leans in slowly and she finds herself leaning as well. It's like their first kiss all over.

Except the door flies open before their lips can touch. Kara, Jordi and Dash stand in the doorway. Dash says nothing only walks right in and sits across from them like nothing happened. Jordi looks at them in question but says nothing and follows Dash in.

Kara, however, smirks and arches one perfect eyebrow as she allows the door to fall shut. She's still got that heart monitor attached to her as well as the hospital gown on which she'd spent a lot of time that week complaining clashed with her complexion. "Are we interrupting?"

Dash glances up at them from his hands where he was fiddling with something, a silent repeat of Kara's question. She can also feel Jordi's eyes in particular on her.

Leo shrugs and their eyes fall to Emma.

"We were discussing Henry IV."

Kara snorts.

"You were discussing something alright," Dash teases, then lifts up the item in his hand. Emma's eyes grow wide and Kara's grow sad. Jordi looks torn. He's curious but at the same time, he doesn't want to get into trouble. However he remembers his surgery and the news he had been given and it's rethought.

What the hell, you only live once, right?

"I can't," Kara pouts at the same time Emma protests.

"No way!" She turns to Leo, giving him a stern look. He simply shrugs.

"I can't control the man," Leo tells her trying to sound apologetic only his voice comes out more excited than anything.

She turns her eyes on Jordi who has the decency to look ashamed but his shrug tells her he's going to do it anyway. "Jesus Christ," she mumbles to herself. Mental note: get friends who are not questionable influences.

When Dash lights it up Emma considers leaving. She does not want to be here if they get caught for this. However it's too close to dinner and if she leaves she'll have to face her food. So she stays.

She tries not to stare when Leo takes the joint and wraps his mouth around it — tries not to think about his mouth which had only been inches from hers not ten minutes prior. It's interesting to watch as he inhales, the flame on the end glowing brighter as he pulls from it. His eyes close and his face relaxes and she bites her lip and has to look away.

Why is he so pretty?

Her eyes instead find Kara, who's engaged in a conversation with Dash. She's laughing which almost scares Emma. She blames the "fumes" the weed is letting off. Oh, no. Does that make her second hand high as well? She tries to hold her breath, especially as Leo exhales, not wanting to breathe in any of the smoke knowing nothing about marijuana and the dangers—or lack of—of its secondhand smoke.

Leo notices her holding her breath after he's passed the joint to Jordi and laughs at her. "You're such a dork, Em."

She scowls, feeling defensive as she breathes in on instinct and wants to smack herself for it. "And you're high."

He smirks, "I'm actually not." He murmurs leaning closer so she can hear him. "It takes more than one hit to get you high from a blunt, Em."

She flushes. It's funny how much she can tell you about things that have to do with school based intelligence but when it comes to things that kids her age usually know such as weed, she's very lacking. It makes her feel uncomfortable and like the odd kid out. Except with Leo she's not quite as ashamed nor does she feel left out, only slightly flustered.

"Well, excuse me. I'm not a pothead unlike some people so I wouldn't know," she smiles up at him sweetly and he laughs, grinning down at her.

"I'm not a pothead, Emma."

"Uh huh. Of course not."

The blunt comes back to him at this time and she smirks as he takes it, doing nothing to disprove her point. His eyes lock onto hers as he pulls. He holds his breath and her gaze simultaneously and when he blows his smoke into her face she's not as pissed off as she pretends to be.

She plucks his nose and he tickles her side and Kara and Dash and Jordi discuss the latest pop hits in depth and Emma feels okay.

It's as okay as she's felt in a very long time and she glances around at them. Leo interjects into their friends' conversation, arguing Kara's point. Dash and him high five. Jordi quirks a smile.

These are her people she realizes. Dash and Leo and Jordi and even Kara who she can't stand half the time but also realizes she's come to accept and even find some of her words endearing (but only some).

This is her Red Band Society and she wouldn't trade them. Not for anything.

(Okay, except sometimes maybe Kara.)


End file.
